The Wizzard of Krudd: Magical Beginnings
by MozaWesterburg
Summary: After a miscommunication with a snarky witch pal, eccentric Wizzard Supreme Butterbeard is stuck with a pet that is not only a non-magical human child, but has parents, whom he now must trick in the real world with a dummy replacement. Hypothetical backstory of how average adolescent Gordo McMullet became "enslaved" in Krudd, and met teased character from the pilot,Hottie McSizzle.
1. New Pet

"Blast it, Merilda, I told you to find me an orphan!" the all-powerful Wizard boomed in his den, while his goblins coward in the corner.

He stood before his caldron, which brewed the image of a head of a person with which Butterbeard was speaking to. The old hag looking back at him from atop the pot look neither amused nor threatened by Butterbeard's shouts. "You didn't specify 'orphan'," the pale, wrinkled face said in a patient monotone. "You said grab a human child who looked lonely. You're just lucky I found a male that fit the bill-you can thank me now for assuming that preference for you."

The bill she was referring to was an agreement the old wizard had with the old witch-someone he loathed to associate with, but who usually was good at performing tasks for which he was too incompetent to do himself-though he'd never admit it. He'd paid her seven small rubies-jewels were the main form of currency among magical beings-in order to find him a non magical human of about 13-young enough to be trained to perform the tasks of a good tower slave-but old enough, Butterbeard hoped, that he would not be tasked with changing any diapers. The witch had lived up to her bargain, but had misunderstood Butterbeard's desire for an Oliver Twist type of orphan, as opposed to one with a still living mother-someone who would care should he turn up missing for, oh, a lifetime.

The high and mighty, or so he self proclaimed, wizard elder of the magical land in which witches, goblins, ghosts and zombies fought for supremacy, was not at all happy to learn that the boy he had chosen to become his new pet already had an owner. Or, as he called it, a 'mom.'

"Foolish hag of a toad's wart! Stealing a man is one thing, but stealing a child is serious business! Why do you think they always kidnap orphans in the big stupid adventure stories the humans read? Now the whole Earth is probably looking for him!"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say the entire Earth," replied the witch, who despite the mix up, had far more experience with mortals than she lead on. "Unless you plan on going back to the non magical realm, you won't even need to encounter the consequences of this. Why are you so worried?"

"Because!" he shouted, then suddenly grabbed his lips. "If the Order of Krudd were to hear about my trouble-making between the realms," he said in a low voice, "This could spell disaster…"

"For you," she snorted. "Fine, then. Send him to me, and I'll send him back-"

"What, are you mad!? He's already seen the place! He knows too much-that which the mortal eye should never see, less their innocence be ruined forever!"

The witch raised an eyebrow and didn't attempt to talk him into a relatively easy forget-me-do spell for the child. She was already thirty minutes into call with the wizard, watching him from the smoke of her own cauldron which created a wobbly but clear screen, he could sense that while Butterbeard called Gordo a mistake, he wasn't entirely ready to be rid of him. For whatever reason that was. He was just using the misunderstanding as an excuse to rant. "If you won't give me him back, then you're on your own with this one-oh, and I'm keeping the rubies," she said, giving a snake-charming smile. "I've already had some of them sent in for new earrings-don't they look lovely?" she said, pulling back her gray, spidery hair, to reveal quite gorgeous giant red gems studded to sagging lobes that resembled loose skin hanging off of a freshly boiled chicken.

Butterbeard tossed a glass of clear liquid into the caldron and caused the witch's head to evaporate from the fog above the rim, ending the wizarding call. When it came to Merilda, he was used to ending the call without a goodbye. The wizard zoomed away from the caldron and yanked one of his hand-written spell books off of the shelf, knocking over and smashing a jar of live beetles as he did.

"I knew I should have scouted this one out myself." the wizard proclaimed, tossing various spices and ingredients into his cauldron, causing the foam to go from yellow during the call, to blue bubbles. "Never trust a witch to do a wizard's job... "

Butterbeard bewitched a large spoon to stir the pot while he ranted and raved, circling his magical office, zooming over beetles, somehow managing not to step on a single one as they scattered for an exit. Lucky things. "This gives me a chance to use a spell I have been tweaking," he said aloud, finally starting to calm down. He tapped his fingers against his skull. "Let's see… a teenage boy is energetic…. Needs the hair of a rabbit, smelly, needs the tail of a warthog…"

As he spoke, he tossed the ingredients from his shelves into the pot, and the thick blue liquid bubbling up from the rim became two shades darker before the wizard was finished. After dropping a single hair from Gordo's head into the pot, he began chanting like a snake charmer above his caldron as the bubbles continued to rise, high above his head, popping and shrinking into smaller bubbles, which popped even smaller and smaller, until they on the whole took on the form of a child. As the microscopic bubbles became a solid mass, a dummy-Gordo was revealed. It looked exactly like the teenager Butterbeard currently had chained away in his cell, but upon asking the dummy "what is two times seven?" and having him respond, Butterbeard was pleased with the dummy's very non-suspicious answer of "POPSICLE!"

 _A perfectly normal human boy_

, he thought smugly.

Though realistically, the only mortal familiar with Gordo who would ever buy that answer from him for a second would be his frustrated math teacher, the other problem with caldron dummies was that, though they looked real, and felt real when you poked them, and cried "OUCH" when you pinched their arms, they don't perform tasks well-as well as the person they are impersonating, anyway. Which, in Butterbeards eyes, meant they were perfectly suitable for living the lazy, mundane lives of the human mortal, while the real human was put to use for however long Butterbeard intended on keeping him. Or until the boy died. Whatever came first.

"If Gordo's mother is every bit as preoccupied as Gordo claims, she won't notice a thing," the wizard muttered to himself, generating a rip in reality from the tips of his own bony, magical fingers that would lead straight to the non-magical realm. Somewhere close to Gordo's school, if his coordinates were roughly correct. There he shoved the dummy through the rip and closed it quickly so as not to let him crawl back through. Considering for a split second whether it would have been wise to tell the dummy what to say when his mother and the police questioned him about his whereabouts during his 56 hour disappearance, the wizard quickly shook off the worry, sure that the dummy would think of something to say. Whether it be a logical, thoughtful lie or shouting the word "DOMINOES!" really didn't matter to Butterbeard. He did his part.

He dusted off his hands for a job well done, gazing around the room, feeling in control once more of the land that he so loved to believe he controlled.

The Land of Krudd, as it was called by locals, was conveniently tucked away between that realm of the non-magical humans and the one with the spider-frogs (which Butterbeard admitted he was quite fond of the latter). But far enough away from the eyes of mere metropolitan mortals that the shock of encountering it often left humans too damaged to send back. At least that's been proven to happen to him 8/10 times.

Other than being the disputed, but unchallenged most powerful wizard in the land, Butterbeard was notorious in the Land of Krudd for a number of things-one of which happened to be his ungodly curiosity of mundane, non-magical humans, and what magic did to their physical and mental well being. In seven hundred and more years alive, one could only spend so much time among goblins and witches and warlocks and other countless magical things before things became, well, tedious. These days, he hopped through realms more than the average solitude-loving wizard, and often brought back with him, what he called, 'Pets.' These pets, as it turned out, were men. Human men. Men who had no family, no jobs, no wives, no notoriety that when Butterbeard took them, they weren't very well missed (at least that is what he assumed, as no one came into the Land of Krudd to look for them. If they were looking for them, he thought, they must not be trying very hard.). Of course, it was easier for Butterbeard to try out his spells on the humans. They were just like wizards, but had no magical means with which to defend themselves. Other than being guinea pigs to his magical tests, with time and training, he figured they could serve him better than his loyal slave Goblins-Twinkle, and Rotten the Minus, respectfully. Often, the humans Butterbeard scouted for were ungroomed, rural looking fellows who resided in the rural parts of the English speaking world, and did not take easy to their surroundings in Krudd. So much so that they often they died of shock before Butterbeard could let them starve to death. (He was aware that humans needed to eat, but the old wizard was carelessly forgetful. And if he didn't assign Twinkle and Rotten the Minus to feed and water the human, there was nobody around with a non magical stomach to remember for him.)

But even with his slave Goblin's help, the humans didn't last very long. Their new enslavement often left them incredibly depressed, or insane. And that made Butterbeard depressed. Or annoyed. Mostly annoyed. And it finally occurred to the wizard that perhaps it was useless, and slowly he gave up on the project to introduce mortal men to Krudd. They were too set in their ways, these men, too old. And for three-hundred years, Butterbeard had given up his pet project.

Quite recently, however, it occurred to him that maybe he was simply looking for the wrong pet. That's where Gordo came in.

He was exactly the type of rock-brainwashed, rebellious, middle school attending youth Butterbeard had been hoping to get his hands on. What he hadn't accounted for, however, was for Gordo to turn that rebellious behavior on his captor. Though Butterbeard was well beyond the point of having children, for the first time in his life, the wizard was tasked with trying to train the rebellious teen into becoming an obedient child. And what he found was, children aren't quite like dogs after all-or goblins, for that matter. They don't just assume orders from a new master at the drop of a pointed hat. What Butterbeard didn't realize was that this was perhaps due to the boy's revelation a few days into his captivity.

Was Gordo scared? The first day, he was terrified, shivering in his cave. He dreaded most of all when Butterbeard confronted him. But then Gordo met the Goblins, that's when he made the critical realization. Seeing how incompetent they were made Gordo realize that his hosts were not so terrifying after all. Even he knew that Butterbeard, for as powerful as he was, and with no doubt that the wizard had the ability to do horrible things to him if compelled, that he could take all of his warnings, all of his threats, with a grain of salt.

At first, Gordo pretended to be as scared as he was when he first arrived, but after finding himself that the Goblins knew he could slip in and out of his shackles with ease, and as they didn't seem to have the mental space to fix the problem, Gordo relaxed further. When the Goblins were occupied, and Butterbeard was on a brief errand, he slipped out of his shackles and began searching the tower, getting acquainted with his surroundings. As his courage increased, so did the amount of distance he gave himself from his cell. He even found a small magical device that could charge his music player without the use of electricity (though the player might have now become radioactive). This was how he discovered that magical devices and non magical devices were compatible.

Remembering that home was rather miserable in its own ways-bullies, mean teachers, a mom who spent more time at work than at home-Gordo found that he didn't loathe the Land f=of Krudd as much as he did when he first arrived. In fact, his newfound enthusiasm was part of what compelled the old Wizard to want to keep Gordo-never had a human come so far as to like the place. What an insult! But still, very intriguing.

And since the goblins were in charge of his feedings and waterings-and they feared Butterbeard's wrath if they were to let the child starve-Gordo was fed quite often. It was still gruel, but notorious gruel for the growing slave in training.

As he curled up to sleep in his bed of hay, there was but one thing he did miss about the metro world-the warmth of his bed. The cell was comfortable through the day, but at night, the temperature dropped to dreadfully uncomfortable cold. And being so far underground was no help. The magically dimmed fire from the torches didn't offer much help for his situation.

It seems like he had just fallen asleep one night when he thought he heard a rustle outside his cell. Sometimes it was a rat scurrying across the floor, so at first, he payed no attention. But then there was a whoosh-much like Butterbeard made when he popped in and out of rooms. An apparition sound, but softer. With an audible shiver, he turned over in his hay bed lazily to see what the dumb wizard wanted, much like he would have done on a saturday morning back home towards his mother.

A pair of bright purple eyes was staring down right at him in dim light of the moon.

If Gordo were to ever scream once in his time in Krudd, now was the time.

"Shush!" a female voice shouted in a whisper, and Gordo noticed cherry lips moving beneath the large eyes. "Not so loud, you N.M! Your shrieking might actually wake the idiots!"

Gordo had flinched and covered his face, but lowered his arms as he was called. "W-What did you call me?"

"N.M.," she said, her voice risen to a low but comfortable volume above a whisper. "Non-Magical. That's what we call the non magical humans," she replied calmly. "At least that's the the more tasteful word for it. The ones from your realm have a number of impolite names here-Hang on," she said suddenly, twisting on her heel and snapping her fingers. All the cell torches simultaneously burst into brighter flames before Gordo's eyes.

He sat up straight in his bed of hay and stared back at the silhouette in front of his cell in awe. No longer a set of terrifying giant cat eyes in the moonlight, the girl that the voice belonged to looked to be just about his height, and roughly his age, but that's where the similarities ended. Now with better light, he could see an outline of her red hair and tanned skin. Her clothes were fitted, but just barely so, and tied at the waist with a rope. The often skimply-clad girls from his school would consider her day clothes pajamas. Actually, if it wasn't for her clothes, she looked just like a girl that he could have walked passed at his school before-well, that and her purple eyes.

"What's your name?" the girl asked.

"My name... is... uh…" he trailed off, suddenly forgetting everything about himself. Even with her face revealed, her purple eyes appeared so massive, he wasn't sure if they were really mouths that would consume him whole.

"Ugg? That's the name of that cave-person Butterbeard dragged in from the primitive regions. Too bad for him, the caveman thought he was a yellow club..."

"I mean," Gordo swallowed hard. He hadn't been without water, but suddenly his mouth was so dry, it felt like he had been walking through a desert. He couldn't remember the last time a girl had approached him like this-and he was only in Krudd for two weeks. _Be cool. Be cool. Be cool!_ "It's Gordo. Gordo's my name."

"Fires, I hope that's not what he named you," she replied.

Now Gordo was no longer intimidated, but annoyed. "No, that's my real name! In the real world!"

She turned up her tiny, cute nose was a sight scowl, and 'hmphed' in fake offense. "Krudd's as real as anywhere else. I thought you would have been one of the smarter ones, you having lasted this long."

Her eyes briefly fell on the shackles dangling empty on the wall behind Gordo, forcing Gordo to look back at them with her. It must have crossed her mind that Gordo had found his way out of the cuffs without magical assistance. In truth, it wasn't so much that Gordo was smarter than the others who used to be stuck in the shackles, but that Butterbeard had not accounted for the hands of a thirteen year old to be smaller than the hands of a full grown man, thus much easier to slip out of the cuffs at will.

Seeing that this person apparently wasn't here to harm him, he mustered the courage to begin questioning her. "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

"Word of mouth was that Butterbeard brought home a new pet," she said, "And I couldn't stand the thought of him letting another one rot." She looked Gordo up and down. "I didn't know he'd go for a kid."

"Another… what?"

"Didn't he brag to you what this is all about? Butterbeard likes to take in non-magical humans as test rats. Been doing this for a few years now. The kingdom is pretty peeved with him, especially since he drags them in from other realms-disrupts the idea of magical and non magical harmony, or something of that nature, I don't remember exactly."

"Wait, that thing you did-with the torches…" Gordo's heart sank. The little bit of hope he had vanished. "That means you're one of them."

"One of what?"

"You know," Gordo shrugged, gazing away from her massive eyes, to the floor. "A witch."

"Oh, blazes no!" she dropped the sack she'd been carrying. "I'm no witch. I'm a sorceress… in training, anyway." She scoffed and put her hands to her hips. "You're not allowed to have full title until you're seventeen, no matter how much you throw around your fireballs-that's what dad told me."

"Your dad?"

"Has anyone around here happened to mention since you were here the name 'Inferno'?"

Gordo gulped. He had indeed heard this name in his time being here. While the self-proclaimed great wizard sneered and laughed at nearly every name he tossed around in Gordo's presence, clearly not intimidated by any of the magical lot he referred to, the one Butterbeard seemed to express genuine, unsarcastic loathing for was someone by the name of "Inferno." If the current Gordo, who had a better understanding of the true nature of the strange world before him than his unfortunate pet-predecessors, was going off his gut feeling, a wizard or whatever have you that possessed a name like "Inferno" was probably overcompensating for a real doubt in his intimidation. However, for as relaxed as Gordo was beginning to feel in Krudd, he still feared making Butterbeard angry-the boy still doubted that he knew more than half of what the unpredictable wizard was capable of. And if Butterbeard was intimidated of someone, it had to be nasty.

"Antisocial creatures, wizards are," she went on. "That's one of the differences between wizards and sorcerers-Sorcerers like to hop realms and build relationships, offering assistance with their powers. Wizards tend to stay by themselves, living in big, secluded places, like this tower."

Gordo gave himself a moment process the information before letting himself stand up and and walk to the end of his cell. "You never get caught breaking in here?"

"Sometimes," she said, a flame prickling out of the tip of her finger like a smoking gun, and she blew on it until the flame went away. "Though I prefer to not-it's a lot more fun to watch Butterbeard think he's gone senile when he can't find his jar of bird eyes, and what not," she smiled innocently, holding up one of the jars she stole just to mess with the old wizard's head.

"How did you get passed the Goblins?"

"It's not really that hard." She gestured over to the cell to the left, where the Goblins rested in snoring slumber, completely unaware of the intruder. "They're not light sleepers. Not even worth wasting a sleeping spell on." She looked back at him. "But if you're so worried, I'll collect my potion ingredients and be on my way."

She turned to leave, but just when she was five steps away, Gordo shouted, "Wait, stop!"

" _Not so loud_!" she hissed again, flipping her head back in such a way that her pigtails whipped the air. "You really do want to wake the idiots, don't you?"

He was struggling to form the correct words. "I thought…"

"You thought what?" she asked, coming closer once again.

"I thought… you… I thought were here to send me home!" Gordo sputtered, not afraid anymore of waking the Goblins. She was the first person to talk to him so frankly since he came here. Panic struck him in the chest to think of her just leaving him when he still had so many questions, let alone the thought that she might help him perform the magic needed to take him home.

"Oh!" her eyes trailed away from his to the sac she had brought, which was still laying on the floor. To Gordo, it was just like saying, _You poor thing. You thought I was here to rescue you._ "Well, I… would if I could, but I don't actually know how," she shrugged.

"What do you mean? You're magical!"

"Breaking through a cell is one thing," she said, "But traveling from realm to realm is a higher level of magic than what I'm capable of. It's actually a weaker point in my family-That's why I'm trying to branch away from just the Fire Arts now, before I get my license. She clasped a hand to her chin. "But maybe I could read up on trans-realm spells…"

"Do you think you could send me back if you knew how?" Gordo asked, with a hint of shyly. Despite that he was just coming to terms with the idea of spending the rest of eternity in this place, he wasn't entirely ready to shut the door on the possibility of ever going home if the opportunity presented itself. And the little feeling that had risen in his stomach at the idea that she was going to help him do that proved to Gordo that despite his lack of affection for the people and chores at home, he was torn.

"There are possibilities," she said politely, but with a frown. Suddenly he sorceress reached between the bars and tugged on his shirt to inspect for tightness, but in the teenage boy's mind, it registered as an unwarranted pass. "I see I wasn't too late."

"I'm not starving." Gordo swatted her hand away, then felt a twinge of regret. That was the closest a girl had ever come to touching him since he became old enough to appreciate them. "But, thanks, or something…" Sweat was beading on the back of his neck. How had the temperature changed so much just getting closer to her?

"I'll leave the sack with you, anyway," she said, picking up her bag and handing it to him through the bars. "I'm sure it's better than the slop he's feeding you."

Gordo was tempted to push it back at her. Something about this girl made him want to refuse her charity-he didn't want anymore help from her than he absolutely needed-but at the same time, he was desperately craving food that wasn't fit for a pig trout. He peeked inside, and seeing something that resembled dry cake made his stomach jump for joy. "Uh… thank you."

"You must be really special if Butterbeard has remembered to keep you fed and watered this long," she said, again kindly, but with the kind of frankness that confirmed to Gordo that Butterbeard did indeed tend to starve his pets. But this fact did not bother Gordo so much at the moment. When she said 'special,' he thought she might have fluttered her eyes at him, but maybe she had just blinked. He couldn't be sure. He couldn't look directly at her gaping eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. But he knew that something inside him definitely fluttered.

"Oh, I don't know," Gordo said, trying not to blush. "I mean, I pretty much destroyed the place my first day here. His head literally exploded."

"You did THAT to Butterbeard?" she cackled in such a way, Gordo wasn't sure if she was lying about not being a witch. "Fantastic!"

He forced himself a smile, at which point a harsh music suddenly erupted from his pocket. The girl's smile feel, and she backed away from the bars of Gordo's cell, alarmed. "What in the great balls of fire is that?"

Quickly, Gordo fished into his pocket to find the source of the noise. "Oh, it's my Uncopyrighted Musical Player," he said as he pressed the pause button in a way that she could see it. "I must have hit the 'play' button on accident."

"Musical player?" she asked in wonder. "You mean there's an entire band trapped in that little white rectangle?"

"Not just one band," Gordo smirked, feeling satisfied that he had something to impress her with," But a hundred. Look:" he gestured for her to come forward and read off the list as he put the player on shuffle and played a snip of each song. "Deaf Lion, Greenest Day, Dat Foregin Guy, Mudley Crude-"

"I've never heard music like that," she remarked. "How do you get all those musicians in there? To play at your will?" she asked, in dreamy wonder.

"It's called a 'Computer.'" he said, "I can tell you more about it-if you promise to help me get back home."

Gordo couldn't be sure if her expression said that she was aware that what he was really after was to spend more time with her. "Very well," she smiled cooly through cherry red lips. "I never thought I'd be making a bargain with a mundane human-Oh, and before I go..."

She reached up and untied one of her pigtails, combing through her hair with her fingers and gathering enough loose strands to roll together in her hands. Gordo could feel the heat radiating off of her as she generated enough friction to cause the hairs to burn up in her hands. The foul smell of burning hair was almost immediately replaced by something fresh and familiar. And when she unclasped her hands at last, a tiny red flower sat in her palm.

"Take this. It'll keep the place at an even temperature at night," she said as Gordo took it in his fingers. "Just give it a few strokes and it'll do it's job."

Despite being conscious of how weird it was to be sniffing what was essentially this strange girl's hair, Gordo held the little flower under his nose. The smell was now wonderful, but he didn't see how it could do what she claimed it could-it was only mildly warm to the touch. Rather, there was a part of him that wanted to ask her, and her radiating warmth, to stay a little longer. He had so many questions-about her, about Krudd, about everything. His head swarmed so much he almost forgot to ask a very important one. "Wait! You never told me your name!"

"Hottie," she said, with no hint of embarrassment. "Hottie McSizzle."

Gordo paused for her to give a sign that she was joking, and when she did not, a snort of laughter broke through. "Shut up! You're lying."

She turned up her nose at him, although her poster hinted that she wasn't as offended as she sounded. "Mortal boys." And she stormed away.

Gordo was tempted to call her back, but he did not know what to say. When she was out of earshot, Gordo let go of his breath. "And I'm supposed to be the one with the stupid name," he muttered rolling his eyes.

Having her leave left an empty space in his chest that he hadn't noticed was there before. He lingered in front of the bars of his cell and the magically lingering warmth of her presence until he became aware of how tired he was, and reported back to his hay bed. A shiver or two later, he began rubbing the flower in his palms frantically, and at first he thought it was only the friction that was causing his hands to burn. But soon he realized the flower was quite hot, and held it away from his palm by the finger tip. And true to Hottie's word, the heat stretched around Gordo's immediate area like a,weightless, invisible blanket. Gordo tucked the flower into the pocket of his jacket and curled up into the hay, his head filled with the kind of content thoughts that didn't not belong in a prisoner's cell, but of mattress bed that he would have otherwise laid his head down on that night, were he not taken here against his will. Whereas Gordo ached for that mattress and that bed and that room of his on his first night in the cell, it seemed easier now to remember just how cold and lonely it actually was. Monotonous. While if his grades were any indicator that he wasn't the brightest kid in his class back home, he could probably hatch an escape plan and leave Krudd if he really put his mind to it. Yet he was beginning to feel more and more reluctant to leave this place.

If this teenage sorceress in training was more aware of the reality of things than Butterbeard and the other adults running this place-did the Goblins count as adults?- Gordo could see himself getting along just fine here. He drifted off into a restful sleep, his last amusing thought of the red haired girl who'd spoken so kindly to him turning his wizard master and his goblins into baked Alaska.

* * *

 **Like _Robot Jones_ , _Wizzard of Krudd_ is another cartoon by Greg Miller and Mike Stern that did not go as far as it had the potential to go. Unlike Robot Jones, this didn't even get passed the pilot stage.**

 **This was a really good short. Few cartoon shorts from shows like Random Cartoons! prove they have the story potential worthy of being a full blown series. That's why only a handful of them (Chalkzone, My Life as a Teenage Robot, The Fairly Oddparents, in Nick's case) ever become shows-it's not just because they don't feel like funding everything that is tested as a short.**

 **I don't even think the reruns of Random Cartoons are syndicated on Nicktoons Network anymore. It's a real shame they just passed up this one cartoon. Then again, Nick is probably still kicking itself for giving up Adventure Time after seeing what a cash cow that was.**

 **I wondered if Krudd getting ignored might have been due in part to the wariness of stuff like Harry Potter for "supposedly" being satanic by certain cynical parental groups. Or if it was just very unlucky. I could believe either.**

 **Anyway, these are some one-off bits of dialog inspired by the show. I doubt this is going to get a lot of attention, but it was fun to write, regardless. And if anything, it's working evidence how much this cartoon had going for it. Even so, I probably didn't do it that great a justice.  
**

 ** _The Wizzard of Krudd_ & characters (c) Greg Miller & Mike Stern + Nick? I think the network still owns this even if it didn't get turned into a series but I have no idea. **


	2. Burned Out, Kidnapped

"Mom, I'm home."

Gordo called out as he opened the front door of their house. It was a typical Friday in early autumn in their small city. No winds, no rain, and nothing special to report, even if he got a response to his homecoming announcement. Assuming someday he'd actually get an 'A' on one of his weekly math tests, maybe he'd have something to have rushed home about. As it was, he only came home because he had nowhere else to be. And besides, he was hungry.

His house keys jingled as he pulled them out of the keyhole, and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Inside, the living room TV was off, and it was awfully quiet. That could only mean one thing.

"You're not, though," he sighed.

He went to the house phone, antenna blinking, and pulled it off of the charger. He tapped the voicemail button and waited through the robotic voice announcing one new messages since he'd left before hearing his own mother. " _Hi honey, it's Mom. I'm on my break at work. Listen, I'm sorry to have to do this to you again, but I'm staying a little later tonight-"_

"Again?" Gordo asked the phone, which of course, went right on talking.

" _-I know I've been doing this a lot lately."_ She lowered her voice to a whisper, and guessing from the various noises in the background, Gordo assumed was in a public place, maybe still in the office, and didn't want the next part to be overheard. " _But I think I might be next in line for a promotion, and Mr. Lachey is going to appreciate it._ _If this happens, we'll never have to worry about money again. I can upgrade to a car with a working air conditioner-a-and, I could finally buy you a new bike, and any video game you wanted. Just hold on a little longer for me, OK, baby? I think there's some chicken nuggets in the freezer for dinner. Be home around 9. Remember to feed Morrison and don't overload the trash. I have to get back to it now. I love you."_

 _"End of message,"_

the voicemail announced. " _Save, press 3. Delete, press 7. More options, press 0."  
_  
Gordo hit the '7' button and pushed the antenna against his cheek thoughtfully. _Third time this week._ His mom was snatching up as much overtime as she could lately. It was good for the bills, which Gordo had only recently become old enough to pay some attention to. But he was tired of coming home to an empty house. He never really appreciated coming home to the distant rumble of the laundry machine and a hot meal on the stove until these afternoons became few and far between.

Gordo had been a latch-key-kid for as long as he'd been old enough to ride the schoolbus-1st graded and onward. His mother had decided that a six year old could figure out a house key, and thus let him let himself into the house after school in the afternoons. But it was only when Gordo became a teenager that his mother took advantage of letting him spend the evening alone in the house. She was never big on babysitters anyway, and neither was Gordo. He preferred to be responsible over himself. But all the same, it was lonely.

However, he could change that. Curious about the friends he'd hadn't seen at school that day, Gordo pulled the phone away from his face and furiously pounded a familiar number into the numeric pad with his thumb. He leaned against the living room wall and tapped his fingers against his kneecap as he waited for a response. After nine rings, the phone finally picked up. " _Hello, Jameston residence_."

Gordo rolled his eyes. "Chase, you have caller ID. You know it's me."

" _I know, man, but dad still makes me answer this way_ ," the boy named Chase answered. " _It's 'good manners.' Your mom mad about that D in Algebra?"  
_  
"Wouldn't know," Gordo said. "She's not home yet."

" _Again? Sure she ain't macking the boss_?"

"Ewww, gross dude," Gordo replied.

" _I'm kidding, man, you're mom's cool. Wish my parents were out of the house that often_."

 _No. You really don't,_ the mullet-sporting boy thought with annoyance. "Anyway, that's what I was calling about. I was wondering if you wanna come over and start a campaign, or something." He fished into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of notebook paper. "I was writing down some ideas for a new character in class, and I got this sketch, too."

" _D.N.D. with just two people_?" Chase interrupted. " _How does that work_?"

"Well, we could call Bobby," Gordo said, cradling the phone on his shoulder and using both hands to open up the wad of paper, trying to read his own handwriting in smudged, #2 lead pencil. "Maybe he's up for a game."

" _Forget it_!" Chase shouted. " _He hasn't done anything with us since he got that new girlfriend of his. Traitor._ "

"You don't mean that," Gordo said quietly. But in reality, he himself felt a little betrayed. Bobby had been the guy who introduced Gordo and Chase to _Dungeons and Dragons_ -he, having learned it from his cousin. But now that he was dating someone, Bobby seemed completely uninterested in the game. Or anything else that didn't include his girlfriend. Gordo had heard that Bobby's cousin's fiance loved games, so it wasn't that D.N.D just wasn't a girl thing. But Bobby's girl didn't care about anything that the boys wanted to do, so she stopped hanging out with them, and Bobby did also.

" _Girls are ruining our lives, man_ ," Chase muttered into the receiver.

"Yeah, but you'd drop everything if a pretty girl showed up on your doorstep right now."

" _And your point is_?" Chase asked, and Gordo could picture his smirk.

"Come on, dude, just come over," Gordo said, practically begging. "We'll watch some bad Nickelodeon show or something and laugh at it."

" _Yeah, right_ ," Chase snorted. " _Like_ Unfabulous _,"_ he said, in a mocking voice. " _Or_ Ned's Declassified Survival Guide _."_

"Hey! _Ned's_ is actually kinda funny," Gordo said. "We could stop by the corner store and get snacks. What do you say?

" _Nah, man, I actually can't. I gotta study up for this big test on Monday, and my dad's gonna have me doing chores all day tomorrow_."

"You're really set on going to Von Stauben, aren't you?" Gordo said, with a sudden tiny feeling of sadness.

" _Heck yeah_ ," Chase said. " _It's the best tech high school in the city. Computers are the future, bruh_."

"Said like a true robot," Gordo said, trying to sound upbeat. Between one of his best friends being wrapped up in a girl, and his other targeted for a high school way out of his league, Gordo felt lonelier than ever. And he hadn't even ended the call yet. "Well, I'll talk to you later, then. Call me if you get done early."

" _You'll be the first on my rollidex, baby_ ," Chase said, imitating a romantic quote from a bad old-timey movie they'd caught once on TV together when flipping channels. " _Later_."

The phone beeped, signaling to Gordo that the call had ended on the other line. He snapped the phone back into the charger and shook his head. So much for a last minute party. Looks like it was going to be another Friday night alone. He hoped that this would change once he got into high school next year. He couldn't wait to be old enough to work and save money of his own-have cash to go out, instead of staying home. Or cash to throw the kinds of parties that other teenagers threw at their own houses when their folks weren't home.

In either case, having more friends wouldn't hurt.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten lunch that day. Or breakfast, for that matter. Gordo pulled the three dollars his mother had given him for food in the cafeteria and went to the kitchen, dropping it into the glass spout lemonade jar on the counter with a few lose coins and bills inside. The food in the cafeteria that day looked like it had already been eaten and regurgitated, and on occasions like this, he saved the money he would've spent on lunch for an electric guitar that he'd had his eye on in the shop down the street.

He passed by it every time he decided to walk home instead of taking the school bus. It was painted pearl white and a smooth, dark purple. So far, he'd only scraped together about twelve dollars and some change. He wasn't even a quarter of the way near the money he needed to buy it.

He wondered if his mother would buy him the guitar if she got that promotion she was so passionate about. He could care less if he rode his hand-me-down, rusty mess of a bike forever. But he _really_ wanted that guitar. Though it would help if he knew anything besides how to play the most basic cords on guitars.

After glaring at his measly savings, Gordo took his music player out of his pocket, and unplugged the headphones from the jack. Taking advantage of the empty house, he put the volume at max and set the player on the counter. He hummed to a Greenday song filling the room as he set out to prepare his dinner. "I'm not growing up, I'm just na-na out... _"_

He flung open his freezer door, and cried out in horror.

"Ah, no!"

He reached inside and, buried beneath a bag of frozen peas and grape flavored popsicles-disgusting-pulled out a bag of fish sticks, breaded in a way to look just like chicken nuggets.

He didn't hate fish, but he would've taken chicken nuggets any day of the week. He eyed his money jar, knowing he didn't have enough for a pizza from that place around the block, even if he was willing to blow it on an overpriced, medium pie.

When his mom first started staying at work late, she'd always known ahead of time, and left money for Gordo to order out. The act of ordering food on the phone felt like a passage towards independence for Gordo, and he loved it. But it wasn't going to be happening tonight. He was hoping that if Chase had come over, he'd offer to buy a bunch of snacks when they hung out, like he normally did, since Gordo just didn't get a regular weekly allowance. His mother had too many bills.

After checking the nooks and crannies of the kitchen for a substitute, like a stale bag of chips, his stomach, that had been denied both breakfast and lunch, growled again. Fish was better than nothing. He held the bag out in front of himself thoughtfully. _Maybe if it's deep fried, it won't taste so bad._ He ripped a sheet of aluminum foil out of the drawer and laid it on a pizza pan, dumping the fishy contents onto it. In Gordo's state of hunger, they looked almost edible. Not bothering to read the cooking instructions on the package, he tossed the whole pan into the oven and turned up the temperature to 350.

As he poured himself a glass of blue Kool-Aid from the fridge, the wafting smell of seafood filled his nostrils, and in from the shadow of the hallway came the pitter-patter of tiny clawed-paws on the linoleum floor.

"So, now you come out!" Gordo said to the red-brown feline, looking up with innocent, green eyes. He set down the pitcher of sugar water and folded his arms across his chest. "Probably smelling the fish, aren't you?"

The cat flicked his tail at a ninety degree angle to the right, while giving his owner an unblinking gaze. The creature, went by the name Morrison, despite not wearing a license with the designation embellished on it, did not meow. When he was hungry, Morrison nudged his head up against Gordo's pant leg, or his mother's, if he wasn't home.

Gordo had always wanted a dog, but the kinds of breeds the boy had wanted were huge, and too expensive to feed. Big dogs were way out of his mother's budget, not to mention required a lot of attention and work, of which neither Gordo nor his mother could provide. In some point in the process of negotiating what kind of breed they _could_ manage, his mother took a young cat off the hands of one of her coworkers. It was skinny and skittish, with a bandage on its tail, and went by the name 'Cuddles'.

Repulsed by both the cat's state of health and what his previous owners had named him, Gordo's mom scraped together some cash for the vet bills to get the feline up and well again, while Gordo sat on the floor and coaxed the cat into brief stints of petting, which miraculously never resulted in him getting scratched by said skittish cat. Sure enough, with time and patience, mother and son had earned the cat's trust, and had taken a particular fondness for Gordo. More often than not, if he was looking for the feline, Gordo could find Morrison asleep on his bed, curled up against the pillow.

The only thing they couldn't seem to fix about Morrison was teaching him how to use his vocal cords. He was as mute as the day he came home, the most noise he ever produced being scratching at a door when he wanted into a room.

The teen pushed his drink aside and cracked open a can of cat food, spooning it into a low rimmed bowl that he then set on the floor by the refrigerator. The cat sniffed the food before taking cautious licks of the gravy-smothered chunks, and this was enough to satisfy Gordo. The teen threw out the empty can, rinsed off a few dishes that were in the sink, and took the already overflowing trash outside before returning to pull his fish sticks out of the oven.

After making himself a plate with ketchup, mustard, mayonaise-pretty much anything he could think of to mask the taste of pollock-Gordo turned off his music player, took the fish and his drink into the living room, set his plate down on the coffee table, and plopped down on the couch. The walk home must have worn him out, since he couldn't wait to put his feet up all of the sudden. He flipped on the television, and change the channel to MTV2.  
 _  
_"I'm Jacoby from _Papa Roach,_ and this is _SCARRED!"_ said the rockstar host, standing outside a construction site fit for skating. "Where every week, we count down the _knarliest_ wipeouts you gotta see to believe. Now, sometimes skaters kiss their boards for good luck..."

Gordo popped the first fish finger in his mouth just as the screen displayed a teen on a skateboard attempting a kick flip, and causing his board to hit him straight in the eye.

"And sometimes the board kisses the skater back," Jacoby said with a wicked grin. "Here's number 5."

Gordo swallowed and winced. He hated reality TV, but for some reason, this show was addictive. Even stranger, considering it made his skin crawl.

He had tried out skateboarding himself about a year ago, and took a painful wipeout trying to grind a rail before giving it up. Even though he was nervous about giving himself a major injury, watching this show made him feel lame for not getting back out there and practicing. Even if he ended up going to the hospital, at least he'd be living.

At some point during the show, Morrison wandered into the living room and joined Gordo on the couch. After being starred down through one fifth of the episode, the teen gave in, reached for some fish with no condiment on it, and ripped off a bit of the inside to give to the cat on an old newspaper. The cat gobbled it down like the treat, while Gordo was still sulking about what a lame dinner it was. Maybe he just hadn't had fish in a while, but the after taste was particularly gross. He reached for the rest of his blue drink and downed it all at once.

The last clip of the episode involved a skinny, long haired boy, losing his board and flying down a flight of stairs, only to land on his face. Seeing the pint of blood pouring from the skateboarder's ear, Gordo pushed his plate onto the coffee table. He was beginning to feel nauseous. Maybe he ate too fast. Or maybe the fish hadn't been cooked enough. How long were those sticks in the freezer?

The rerun ended, only to lead into the premier of a brand new episode-this one looking pretty gruesome. But Gordo wasn't in the mood to watch anymore. He flipped back to the news station so his mother wouldn't know what he'd been watching-she didn't really like him watching MTV-trying to think of what else was on Friday night. Not much, as it turned out. People who had lives went out on Friday nights.

Feeling like a loser didn't pair up well with his queasiness. It all made his stomach uneasy. He turned to Morrison, who had started to clean his paws with the tongue he'd just used to lick the fish. "Do you have to do that now?"

The brown cat paused, gazing at him curiously with his contrasting green eyes. They looked brighter than normal, almost as if they were glowing. The sun was just beginning to set, and the side of the house with the living room was cast in shadow, save for a little light spilling in from the window. The artificial light of the TV showed every hair on Morrison's back standing on edge.

Gordo leaned his head against the back of the couch and groaned. "Morrison, is life always gonna be this bogus?"

Knowing very well the cat wasn't going to respond, he reached over and gave the feline a gentle stroke along his back. Morrison's spine arched with Gordo's hand, and stretched, while continuing to stare at his owner with a content gaze and purr.

When the teen pulled his hand away, the cat raised his head to the ceiling in what looked like the start of a face-stretching yawn, like he always did. But out of the cat's mouth came a noise that thundered through the quiet living room.

"BARK!"

Gordo sat up straight, looking left and right in the living room. Sometimes people walked their dogs outside his house. But this noise sounded like it was coming from inside the house. From inside this very room, in fact. He gazed at the TV, which was on a report about water damage to someone's house, with the volume very low. Had the TV made that noise? No...

His only alternative was to turn back to the cat, who was now calmly flicking his tail against the side of the couch's left arm. "Did... you... _bark_ at me?"

The cat, who previously had never made a noise louder than the occasional purr, continued to stare at Gordo as if nothing had shaken the calm that had settled over them. He looked as content as ever.

Deciding he might just need to lay down for a while, Gordo shut the TV off, and carried his plate to the kitchen. Normally he'd at least rinse off the ketchup from the plate and shove it into the dishwasher, but the further he walked, the more he realized how badly he wanted to hit the bed.

It was a good thing he didn't have any company over. He couldn't imagine cutting off a game just to tell his friends he needed to go to sleep at 7:30 like a three year old.

Gordo tossed his empty cup into the dishwater pan so the residual sugar wouldn't attract ants, and groggily remembered to pick his music player off of the counter and shove it, and the headphones, back into his pocket, before climbing the stairs.

With every step he took, Gordo became more aware of the labor it took to move his body, like his feet were made of lead. He couldn't remember the last time he felt _this_ tired. He had to stop at the top of the stairs and take deep breaths. Meanwhile, his stomach was doing back-flips, and the dread began to set in that he was going to wake up two hours from now, vomiting his guts out.

He pushed open his bedroom door-cool and calm, with the curtains drawn and the lights off-and kicked off his shoes. He didn't bother to throw on his pajamas, only tossing his jacket onto the back of his desk chair and his jeans on top of it. In his cartoon character boxers, he climbed under the big, plaid comforter and felt the cool, softness of the pillow against his warm cheek. Soon after, his bedroom door opened a crack, and in came the cat, resuming silence as he hopped onto the bed, and curled up at his owner's feet.

Gordo cursed tomorrow for being a Saturday-of _all_ days of the week he had to get sick, it couldn't be right before a school day. When he had a legitimate excuse to stay home. How did he get so unlucky?

As he drifted off to sleep, the linen-scented pillow soaking up the sweat collecting under his bangs, Gordo found himself thinking about his dad. So much of what was wrong with his life could be traced back to him. Mr. McMullet owed his ex wife thousands of dollars in child support since they split up when Gordo was young. Gordo not only rarely saw his father anymore, but was lucky if he even got a birthday card from him every year. Even if he didn't yet understand all of the details, he knew that it wasn't easy supporting a kid on one parent's salary. And that he and his mother would be a lot better off if his father did his share to support them. Maybe he wouldn't have to dump his lunch money into a jar to save up for that guitar, or keep turning down outings with his friends when they wanted to do something expensive, like go to a real concert.

At this point, Gordo's mother had given up trying to get the alimony from her ex-husband, and never reminisced about their time together, at least that Gordo saw. But Gordo had spent the first few years of his life with his father in the picture, and it still hurt to think that he couldn't even bother to excuse himself for why he couldn't help. Gordo felt like he should hate his dad. After all, he just didn't do what dads were supposed to do. But he knew if he could change the way things had worked out, he'd rather be oblivious to the kind of person his father turned out to be, and love him unconditionally.

The digital alarm clock on his nightstand read 7:49 the last time Gordo looked at it before falling asleep, having no idea that it would be the very last time he saw his bedroom clock with his own eyes, or fell asleep in his own, comfy bed, for a long time.

* * *

The voice of an angel had woken him.

 _Gordo..._

It was as quick and faint as it could be. The teenager felt his head rise from the pillow, his body sitting up straight in bed. He wasn't totally aware if he was doing the movements, or if someone else was. He had no idea what time it was, or if his mother was home yet. He wasn't even really aware if it was late at night yet. He had half a mind to look at the clock and see what time it was, but for whatever reason, the will to look directly at it and make sense of what the numbers meant did not come to him.

 _Gordo, rise._

The teenager felt his hand reach for the comforter and toss it carelessly to the side. His eyelids refused to open completely, and his head felt as heavy as his feet had felt, climbing the stairs hours ago-though that only felt like minutes ago. He knew it had to be later than that, because his room had gone from dark to pitch black. When the voice had called out to him this time, he was aware enough to sense that it was female. But he couldn't quite tell who it was. Was it his mother?

The teenager went along with his body's will to move, letting his feet effortlessly find the floor.

 _Now, get dressed. Don't go out indecent.  
_  
With limbs that felt like noodles, Gordo reached for his jeans and slipped them back on, along with his jacket-which still had his music player safety tucked deep into the right pocket, where it wouldn't fall out. He sat on the bed and put on his shoes, tying the laces, all with the force of reflexive habit. He was just vaguely aware that he would not be able to perform this task now if he didn't do it every single morning.

 _Good,_ the female voice cooed. _Very good. Now, follow my voice, and don't stop for anything short of bodily harm._

Still trying to decide if the voice was in his head, or all around him, the teen reached for the knob for his bedroom door. It took two or three careful tries to grab the handle the right way, and turn it. He let himself into the upstairs hallway, passing his mother's bedroom, and down to the first floor. The house was dark, meaning it was definitely late at night. In the rare chance he'd fallen asleep before she'd gotten home, he would check on his mom at some point in the night to make sure she'd made it home OK. But the impulse to do so was repeatedly washed away with the desire to listen to the gentle voice, that was leading him right up to their front door.

"Gordo?" called out a muffled voice from upstairs. "Are you up? Everything alright?"

That. That was definitely mom, Gordo realized. Then who-?

 _Ignore her,_ the angelic voice cooed. _Keep moving._

And despite the sensation in his gut that told him to stop, he kept moving. The voice in his head would not allow him to stop for the voice he heard with his ears. The voice in his head, which he quickly realized sounded nothing like his mother, ordered him to unlock the front door, as quietly as possible, and step out into the chilly night air.

The fall wind bit on his exposed skin, and the jacket he was wearing wasn't enough for the outside, but he didn't have enough impulse to go back and put something heavier on. Gordo's felt his feet move down the driveway, around their mailbox, and down the sidewalk to his right. All along, the bitterness of the cold was starting to lift some of the haze from his brain, and it was only now that he was aware that his movements were definitely not under his control. It was as if something was tapping into his brain's ability to do things like blink and walk without giving it much thought, and had hijacked it.

That voice that continued to call out to him. Always five feet away, but somehow clear as if it was right in his ear. It pulled him forward like a fly to a flame, and the sweeter it sounded, the harder it was to feel defiant towards it.

The siren-esque voice lead him through the neighborhood, seeing houses he'd passed by all his life, in the dark and quiet of night. The streetlights were old and dimmer than they should have been. The occasional passing car were the only signs of life around him, and if it hadn't been for the voice injecting calm into his brain, he would definitely be creeped out.

The end of his street lead to a row of businesses on the perpendicular street-mostly independently owned shops and restaurants. In between a number of the buildings were gaps that connected the back of these buildings to the alley behind them. Gordo walked for what felt like ages, his feet never so much as slipping on a rock before, at last, slowing down at a shop with a darkened window.

 _Wazoo's Magic Boutique_ was a dull place. Gordo only remembered going inside once, back when Chase and Bobby and himself had done things together every day. It was basically the town's generic magic shop, where little kids begged their parents to buy overpriced magic kits that never ended up working as good as they advertised on the box. Even though it was closer to Gordo's house, it was Bobby who had dragged him and Chase inside, to see what they had related to the _Dungeons and Dragons_ game. As it turned out, aside from selling _Magic the Gathering_ cards, they didn't have anything like that. So it was a quick in and out for the boys.

Gordo remembered this as he felt his feet began to move again. There was a four foot gap between _Wazoo's_ and the barber shop next door, and he was heading straight for it.

 _That's right, Gordo, a little closer now,_ the voice cooed. _And you will finally see me._

As he stepped into the shadow and out of the safety of the streetlights, Gordo remembered something else, like an unpleasant memory that had locked itself away. Before he had left the shop that day, there had been a heavyset woman who had emerged from the back. The manger, Gordo assumed. Instead of welcoming him or the other boys with her monotone voice, like the highschool aged cashier, the old woman set her eyes on Gordo and would not take them off. Did she think he was going to steal something? Stuff his pockets with crap magic toys? As Bobby and Chase looked around, snickering and making jokes at the merchandise, Gordo stayed quiet, trying his best to look nonchalant and hope that she would take his eyes off of him. He never ended up telling his friends about this, feeling like they would make fun of him for being paranoid about some old lady. But he couldn't shake the feeling like she had set her glassy-blue eyed gaze on him for a reason.

 _This was only half a year ago,_ Gordo remembered.

Another step into the darkness. Now all he could see was black, and he couldn't force his eyes open any wider. The adrenaline to flee was killed by the constant impulse of calm that commanded his every move.

And then, right in front of his eyes, light began to manifest from nothing. It was blue and bright, like a new star, and slowly began to change, taking solid form.

Human form.

At once, Gordo saw the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his entire life. Her skin was ice white, her hair eggshell. Her eyes the darkest blue of the deepest, darkest sea. Her lips were curled in the most easing smile imaginable.

The shock of seeing her knocked him still, and he staggered back on his heels, trying not to fall. Whatever force that had brought him here released him like a clamp, but he was too dazed by this new sight to notice.

 _Come with me, boy,_ the voice said, and Gordo now saw that it was the angel in front of him for whom the voice belonged to.

The angel pointed to a spot behind her, in the darkness further down the alley. His limbs belonged to himself again, but that temptation, that voice, that seductive gaze, it was too hard to resist. One step, then another, and then another. Gordo walked right passed her without realizing it, obeying her, going to the exact point where she had pointed.

It was only when the darkness eclipsed him, and she and her glow were totally beyond his line of sight that the sobering reality of his situation had set in.

This wasn't just darkness he'd stepped into. It was a rip the air, a void of blackness that did not belong to the normal world. A parting of the universe.

And by the time Gordo turned around, it was too late. It was sucking him inside. And the very last thing he saw of the metro world-his own world-was the silhouette of the obese, old woman from the magic shop, standing where the pretty young girl had stood just moments earlier. She looked just barely pleased as her trap, outlined by the streetlights behind her, her blue glow gone. Her eyes were neither fierce or comforting as they found the child's. They were factual. This was Gordo's fate, and she had just been the servant who made it happen.

It was only when the boy was gone, the rip closing up in the darkness to reveal a wood fence that would have been very visible to Gordo if the void had not been in the way, that the witch named Merilda smirked to herself. Just a little.

 _That, you fool, Butterbeard,_ she thought to herself _is how you trap a mortal man._

* * *

 **As you can probably tell, the "one-shot" WoK fanfic is no longer gonna be a one shot. But I have no idea what to title this yet. (Suggestions would be lovely).**

 **So Epic, my friend on dA, started doing a Wizzard fanfic recently and I thought, what the heck. I'll give this one another go. A little after I posted the One-Shot a few years ago, I had a couple more ideas for Gordo and Hottie trying to find a way to get Gordo home and him attempting to date her despite the divide of him not being magical, and I guess I was afraid to start something else I wasn't going to finish. So for now, this is more aimless than my main RJ fic, but I'm interested in making up ideas for what this show might have done.**

 **Unlike my other fics, I went for broke and made references to stuff IRL instead of coming up with stupid fake names for everything.**

 **Comments/Criticism/Spam meh plz**

 ** _The Wizzard of Krudd_ & characters © Mike Stern ******& Greg Miller &** Nickelodeon **


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